Page 3 of Theirs to Tempt: The Marriage Claim

Chapter Two

Lucian

Victory tastes like a fine, aged Bonds whiskey.

Well that, and the faint metallic edge of Richard Langford’s fear.

“You!” His eyes go wide, and his face loses color as he shoves his chair back, sending it crashing to the floor. “You fucking cheated.”

Caleb takes a purposeful step forward, and I give a subtle shake of my head and slowly stand. “Be careful you don’t say anything you’ll regret five minutes from now.”

As the dealer scrambles to get away and heads for an exit, Altair purposefully moves in, a single eyebrow raised. “An apology is in order, Langford.”

“And I suggest you deliver it right now,” Caleb adds.

Richard shakes.

“Deliver your apology and leave.” Altair pushes a button beneath the table.

Moments later, a massive, hulking man enters the room. He folds his arms across his bare chest.

Neither Caleb nor I will retreat from a fight, but even we would think twice before crossing Taranis.

“Your apology?” Altair prompts.

“Fuck you.” Langford’s words are directed at me.

My smile is as dead as my heart. “Like I intend to fuck your daughter.”

When he lunges, Taranis captures Langford by the back of his jacket, leaving him flailing comically.

Altair sweeps a hand toward the elevator. “Mr. Langford will be leaving now.”

“Sir.” Taranis nods.

Still spewing expletives, Langford is bundled inside the waiting compartment.

The moment the doors swish together, Altair moves toward the bar. “I believe this calls for a celebration?”

“It does.” Caleb meets my gaze.

Deep satisfaction spreads through my chest with every measured breath I draw. My pulse beats steady against the crisp cuffs of my shirt, the fabric cool where it brushes the insides of my wrists, grounding me in this exact moment.

She’s ours.

The air around us carries the rich scent of leather and warm wood, undercut by the distant, intoxicating musk of sex and surrender rising from the floors below.

Low lighting casts long shadows across the dark-paneled walls, and the massive wall of monitors flickers with raw, unfiltered life.

On the center screen, a woman arches in intricate rope, her body gleaming with sweat, her mouth open in a silent cry as her Dom’s fingers drive deep between her spread thighs.

The camera catches the way her inner muscles flutter around his hand, the helpless roll of her hips chasing more, even as tears of overwhelming pleasure track down her flushed cheeks.

Another feed shows a private room where a man is on his knees between two partners, one cock stretching his mouth while the second claims his ass in slow, deliberate thrusts that make his entire frame shake.

Moans echo through hidden speakers, layered and rhythmic, the wet sounds of bodies meeting bodies weaving into the low thrum of bass that vibrates up through the floor beneath my shoes.

Every scene pulses with the same perfect exchange of power we intend for her—our hands pinning hers as our mouths devour her body, claimed and claiming in return.